My elbow is burning, my ears are hurting, the crowd is murmuring over something.

I don’t care.

Mortimer is horrified. I don’t have to see his face to know. He whips the violin away from me, angry. “There are only a few more bars left!” He whispers harshly. He wants to yell, but cannot. The concert is still going on and there's no interrupting a concert. He continues playing where I left off and finishes the rest of the song. 

I sit there in a stupor thinking about how much I want to go to bed. 

I hear the audience clapping. Slowly at first, uncertain. Then the usual hail of hands. The end of the first movement. People are talking a lot more loudly on the other side of the curtain.

Mortimer glances at me, still furious. Mikail bursts through the curtain. That’s odd, he should not be back stage, the concert isn't all over. 

“I knew this would happen,” he hissed. What? What would happen? He looks at me, and grabs my arm.

I scream and whip my arm away. I did not realise I had the energy to do so. 

He snatches my hand back and pulls up my sleeve up. I flinch, but am too weak to pull away a second time. He stares at my arm. Then lets go.

“He is burning up.” He says to Mortimer. Was that guilt in his voice? I don't know, but I can still hear the anger. But directed at who? 

I cradle my elbow. They say more things to each other. I take my violin from him.

“What do you think you are doing? Mortimer askes still angry.

“I have to practice before bed,” I say weakly. “I…” I don’t know where I was going with sentence. “I’m going to go.” I say, then walk out of the room.

The two men watch me leave, rooted to their spots. They do not stop me, they do not help me on my way. I leave before the concert is over. I stop first to Mortimer's practice room to get the violin case. It was discarded on the floor. I pick it up and continue on my way. 

It is cold in the corridor.

It is colder in my room. Alone. 

I used to relish in the thought that my room was at the last room in the hall, far away from people. But now it was seems too far away. In a haze I go to the bathroom, get dressed for bed, then fall down into it. 

I wake up a few minutes, hours? The sun is still down. My head hurts and my fever has not broken. But I forgot to practice my scales.

The violin is in the bed beside me. I slowly caress its strings, and start to cry.

Never going to be on stage. What’s the point of me being here. I don’t understand. I don’t remember.

I still have to play. Every day without fail, before bed: B minor, G minor, F minor, C minor.

I finish my bedtime lullaby. I cradle the violin again, tears falling onto the strings. I stifle my howls. I place it gently back into its case. I consider breaking it. Into a million little pieces. But I could never do that.

I leave the case open and crawl into bed. It only takes a minute to fall back to sleep.

A long while later, someone come into the room. He wakes me up and looks me over. It is the doctor. “You’ve not been coming to my room,” he mentions causally. He hands me something in a cup, I drink it obediently.

“You have a raging fever, I’m prescribing some rest. And a lot of water," he says. "Make sure you drink.” He taps the pitcher. It’s empty. “I’ll go get you more water, don’t worry. I could enchant it to fill up by itself, but I'm not so sure about the side effects of drinking that. Would not want to test that on an ill person anyway. When you empty the pitcher I will fill it up again, or I'll get someone else to. Don't worry. Lay down and sleep.”

I comply, closing my eyes. The medicine is making me sleepy. I hear the doctor leaving the room, his boots echoing in my almost empty room. 

Then I hear a wail. A long sonorous howl. The hairs on my skin stand up. I do not know where it is coming from. It wafts into my room, an eerie song. The doctor has not returned with more water. I glance at the door. It is left slightly ajar. There is no footsteps coming from the corridor. I hear no noise at all except for this wail. 

*****

End of Movement 1.